


Sweep of the Sword

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:07:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex is nothing if not enthusiastic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweep of the Sword

Alex bounces on the balls of her feet, shifts the wooden sword in her hand slightly, fidgeting like a kid waiting for her school picture to be taken. Masako frowns; where should she start?

“What is it this time?” says Alex.

“Your grip.”

“Sorry. It’s more comfortable this way.”

“That’s because you’re not used to the right way yet,” Masako says.

Alex shifts her fingers, rolling the sword over in her hand until it’s an approximation of the proper grip, still not ideal.

“Straighten your fingers.”

“They’re straight.”

Masako purses her lips and lays her own sword to rest against the wall. “Here.”

She takes Alex’s hand in hers, pushing at her fingers to line them up properly on the grip. It looks okay, but she’s not entirely sure, so she places her own hand on top of Alex’s. It’s different, the angles between Alex’s fingers, but Alex’s hand is different; it’s not only bigger but her fingers are shaped differently, wider; her knuckles form a different kind of natural bend than Masako’s, the branches of a different species of tree. And of course her grip can’t be exactly the same (and it shouldn’t). But there’s a common root grip that nearly every move is based on, and Alex is nearly there now. She pushes Alex’s ring finger over a few millimeters with her thumb, and there it is.

She doesn’t want to take her fingers away. Masako very nearly grimaces; she’s too old for this sort of thing; she’s touched Alex enough times before, many of those times in contexts less appropriate than this one. She’s being ridiculous.

“Masako?”

“All right. That should do it. Don’t shift out again, and move your feet, too. They’re too close together.”

Alex obeys; then she shifts back, waiting like a kitten trying to pounce on a bug, too tense. Masako sets in her own stance and waits, and then Alex strikes, an awkward sweeping motion that is decidedly not something Masako taught her. It’s easy to block, strong and fast but without enough force or precision to knock Masako or her sword back. Then she sweeps around, this time into what looks like a standard strike but her footwork’s sloppy and she’s going to have to adjust it (and the realization on her face is clearer than light through a clean windowpane but it’s too late to prevent it and Alex knows that too). She tries to fix it, to untangle her footwork, but she glances down to do it and the moment is enough for Masako to strike, reach her own sword in and jab Alex in the stomach.

“You got me,” says Alex.

“You shouldn’t make the same mistakes twice.”

“I know. I mean, I knew I was doing it but it was already done and…” she trails off and shrugs. “Again?”

Alex is nothing if not enthusiastic. It helps that she’s already an athlete, that she’s fit and light on her feet and that she knows firsthand how much work it takes just to get to the baseline level of mediocrity, especially at this age. And even if her progress is slow, she’s determined to get where she’s going (however far that may end up being).

“Yes,” says Masako.

Alex matches her smile and shifts her position, this time nearly correct. Masako looks pointedly at her; Alex shifts her feet and looks at her grip. She purses her lips and inspects the curl of her hand, and then when she’s satisfied looks up again.

“I’m ready.”

Masako springs forward; Alex meets her with an adequate parry; she rears back to strike but Masako gets there first and Alex very nearly loses her footing trying to make the block. She pushes back (finally using her size to her advantage); Masako slips away and dances back. Alex twitches, as if she’s going to wipe the building sweat from her brow. She doesn’t.

Masako very nearly doesn’t see the wooden sword as it whips toward her chest, and all her years of reflexes and training are barely enough to meet it with her own and redirect the force backward. Alex apparently has nothing planned for the situation where this doesn’t work, and it’s all too easy for Masako to find the opening by her side and jab her with the butt of the sword. Alex winces; her grip loosens. Masako grins, bringing the sword down and tapping Alex in the knee.

She drops the sword, tries to catch it with her legs, and ends up spilling herself all over the floor like an overflowing dishwasher. Masako places her own sword on the floor and reaches out a hand for Alex to grab.

Alex springs up, pulling Masako’s arm hard enough for it to feel like a tug toward her. Not that she needs to; their bodies are only a few centimeters apart, the space between them too small for their joined arms to fit into were they to try.

“Had enough for today?” says Masako.

Alex nods and then she lets go of Masako’s arm, the loss of contact momentary before she brings Masako into a hug, squeezing her around the waist and nestling her face into Masako’s neck and shoulder. Masako’s used to these quick, broad displays of affection by now (as used to them as she’s ever going to be at least) but it’s still surprising how earnest and open about them Alex still is, that no matter how often she does this there’s never any less meaning.

“Masako…”

“Yeah?”

“Show me how to do that next time?”

Masako half-laughs—she doesn’t mean to, and she’s not intending it in a mean way because this is just one of those Alex questions. And Alex doesn’t take it that way; she knows she’s not nearly ready for that (it’s awfully hard to lunge without having your feet in the proper position to spring forward, and even if you do that you can’t so much as hope your sweep of the sword is any good with the wrong kind of grip).

Alex’s arms are snug around her waist; both of their bodies are hot and the sweat and grime from practice are caking on their skin like clay under the desert sun and Masako should push her away because it’s gross and they need to wash off and a thousand other reasons that are growing dinner in her mind every second, submerged and drowned by Alex’s lips against her neck and the smell of her fruity shampoo briefly overpowering everything else. Masako dimly registers that they shouldn’t just leave the swords on the floor but dismisses it just as quickly. Her mind needs to shut up right now. (And when Alex helps it along a few seconds later, it’s all the better.)

**Author's Note:**

> this was a wip for a loooooong time lmao


End file.
